


Putting Up the Stockings

by fuzzyfying



Series: December Fanfiction Challenge [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Pack Shenanigans, Winter fic, Xmas fic, lexi fic, ridiculous overuse of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzyfying/pseuds/fuzzyfying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dec 7: Putting Up the Stockings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting Up the Stockings

A week of December had passed, just long enough to push the thought to the back of their minds. It wasn’t so much a false sense of security as the absence of a threat. Another week or so and they would have started worrying, but December 7th? That wasn’t even a day on their radar. If anything was going to happen this early, it would have happened on the first, right? _Right!?_

They should have known better. They knew _something_ was going to happen. With Stiles and holidays? It was a given. Something _always_ happened. They just weren't expecting... This.

The Hale house had been _Christmastized_. Lights hung from every window, streaming in rivulets across even slightest ridge that protruded from the sides of the house. Candy canes sprung from the ground, yet more lights hanging from their heads - a glimmering fence enclosing the property in Christmas.

Derek was the first to recover.

“Stiles?” He called, his painfully even voice loud enough to carry.

Werewolves and humans alike could hear the responding thud of heavy feet tripping down the stairs. Derek pulled out his wallet with a sigh. To no one’s surprise, his credit card was missing.

The wreathed and holly-lined door flung open, a blur of a young man bounding out of it in tripping, flailing, steps.  

“FELIZ NAVIDAD.”

“Stiles, I-”

“FELIZ NAVIDAD.”

“That’s great, could you-”

“FELIZ NAVIDAD PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD”

Derek turned helplessly to Scott, who was too busy grinning manically to even notice.

“I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS.” This time another voice had joined in.

Derek turned to Erica, “You too?” he groaned.

“I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS.” A third.

“Scott!” Derek looked offended.

“I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY-”

“ _Boyd!?_ ” Derek whipped his head around, stunned. By this time the entire pack had encircled him.

“HEEAAAAAAAART” They crooned, voices warbling in differnt keys, octaves, and notes.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN!” hooted Stiles, high on the season. He had a neon pink santa hat on top of his head, and he was wearing red velvet knee-high boots with a matching, white-trimmed dress under a red plaid shirt.

“Your outfit would be perfect if it didn’t clash so badly.” commented Lydia, as she swept past him with a smile and kiss on the cheek, her heels clicking primly against the sidewalk. The rest of the pack followed suit with only slightly less backhanded compliments, filing into the house with oohs and ahhs until only Derek remained.

He sighed again, “Can I have my credit card back yet? Or are you not done?”

“Sure thing Alpha-dude-boss-man.” Stiles fished the rectangular piece of plastic out of his boot, “You know, this, uh, was actually a gift to the girls.” he swept a hand out in a loose gesture toward his apparel.

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles smiled happily. Derek was pretty sure he missed something. “We’re all going to match.” He added, still smiling brightly, proudly, quietly. How his smile was quiet, Derek didn’t know. It seemed that no part of Stiles could ever be quiet, until it was. Then the loud angles of his body would melt into softness, and the sharp glint in his eye would mute, round out, and Stiles would become something _other_. Still Stiles, never anything but Stiles, but _other_. Derek looked back at the lights.

“On my credit card.” It wasn’t a question.

Stiles answered anyway, “Yepp!” then flounced away, surprisingly agile in three-inch heels.

The lights twinkled around him, strong scent of eggnog and gingerbread wafting out of the open door. A christmas tree stood in the window - draped in lights, but otherwise undecorated. A box of ornaments - no doubt personalized and dog related - sat open next to it. Holly hung in the doorframe in place of mistletoe, and no doubt every other doorframe in the house.

Derek froze, blinking as the sudden realization hit him, hard, like a lax shot to his sternum.

Stiles’ face appeared in the doorway again, “Come on Sourwolf - We’re about to hang the stockings!” He seemed so excited about such a simple thing that Derek couldn’t help but smile. “Whoa there, Buddy, don’t strain your face.” Stiles tossed him a wink and a laugh, “Come on!”

Derek found himself obeying without really meaning to, jogging into the warmth of the house, a place that had become home so quickly after so long that it was still a jolt to his system.

“This one’s yours.” Isaac’s grin was downright evil as he handed Derek his stocking - a fuzz-covered monstrosity covered in pawprints and bones.  Derek looked at Stiles - the little imp wasn’t even bothering to hide his laughter.

“If I wake up in three weeks to nothing but dog toys in this you’re all going to pay.” Derek huffed, fighting a smile.

“Who says we’re getting you anything?” Malia retorted at the same time that Stiles grinned -

“So you _are_ okay with _some_ dog toys?” then turned, affronted, “ _Malia_.” he admonished.

Something in Derek’s gut twisted at the sight of Stiles defending him, even against the empty threats of a pack member. He looked up, blinking, to find himself under Lydia’s knowing eye. He glanced around, Erica, Lydia, and Allison all wore matching smirks. He noticed Scott slipping Jackson a twenty. Only Malia looked confused.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for little boys in little dresses.’ Isaac drawled.

Stiles flushed.

“Isaac.” Derek’s tone was deadly.

He was out of the room before he even knew he stood up.

“Screw you, man.” he heard dimly behind him, Stiles defending him from his own pack, again. The twist in his stomach was far less pleasant this time.

He was almost out the door when a hand wrapped around his shoulder. It took surprisingly little effort to turn Derek around, supernatural strength and all.

“It wasn’t the dress.” Stiles whispered. It wasn’t a question.

Derek answered anyway, “No.” then pulled away, pushing off of the steps and into the night.

“ _Seriously_?” Stiles hissed, “Derek, that is called a _moment_. Derek, we were having a moment! Derek, get back here!” Stiles’ whispers had bled into shouts, the silence that followed quickly broken by the scuff and slam of shoes being wrenched off, and barefeet striking wet ground.

“That’s-a-boy,” Stiles muttered lowly, “run _toward_ the Werewolf in the middle of the night. It’s not like you’re pretty much _sensory-blind_ compared to him. It’s not like the preserve is _dangerous_ or anything.” feet slapping at the ground rhythmically as he locked onto a pace. “It’s not like you’re in a dress and it’s _cold_ or anything.”

Derek faltered, concerned. “Derek, I swear to god if you make me run after you in the middle of the night with no shoes and NO PANTS-” Stiles didn’t bother to finish his threat, picking up the pace instead, running a little faster than his already breakneck-lope. Derek forced himself to a standstill. He would just have to deal with the consequences of his… _interest_ … in Stiles.

Stiles claims to blindness were proved legitimate when a minute later he slammed into Derek’s back. “Did we hit the treeline already?” Stiles called, woozy, from the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Stiles grinned, teeth white against the night, “Now help me up so I can see if I’ve got a concussion or not.”

 

The pack was pointedly not waiting for them when they got back, milling around the living room by pure coincidence when they came in. A cup of hot chocolate each and a plate of gingerbread was out on the counter, the stockings laid out but not hung up.

“The grinch returns.” greeted Erica.

“He’s not a grinch.” Stiles huffed, “He’s _much_ more cuddly than a cactus.” It sounded like something he had said a lot.

The twisting in Derek’s stomach was back.

Lydia shot everyone a stern look, and, in near synchronization they looked at their shoes, mumbling out apologies.

Malia’s face brightened, “OH!” she exclaimed, “Derek likes Stiles!” obviously proud of herself, she grinned.

Stiles winced visibly, but Derek just sighed, reaching out to pull a clump of mud out the boy’s hair. “Yes, Malia, I like Stiles.”

Stiles squawked, arms flailing out, striking Derek across the nose, hard, as he turned to hug him, equally hard. “I would kiss you right now but we’re in front of a lot of super-smellers and I’m an eighteen year old boy and I don’t think I could pull off chaste. Possibly ever.”

“You’re in front of a lot of super-hearers too, you know.” Jackson grumbled, but he couldn’t really complain with Scott’s twenty in his wallet.

 

“Can we put up the stockings already? I want to do the tree!” chimed in Allison from her place in front of the fire where she sat, curled into Scott’s side. Attention thoroughly diverted, Stiles rushed to set up the mantle.

Derek breathed in, the scent of Stiles clinging to his clothes, the scent of pack steeped deep into the house, the lights twinkled in the windows, and his mouth tasted like chocolate and gingerbread. Soon it would taste like Stiles.

For the first time in too many years, Derek knew he was going to have a good christmas.


End file.
